Mending the Broken
by AokazuSei
Summary: Matthew Williams was abandoned twice, once by his birth parents, and once more by Francis Bonnefoy. Growing up, he continued to hate the man he once looked up to. Matthew leaves his home in order to pursue a higher education, but what will happen once he arrives?


**Disclaimer: **I don't own Hetalia or the characters, just the plot (my friend helped me out)

**A****uthor's Note**: Hopefully, the ending is bittersweet, and that the characters aren't too OOC. I'm not familiar with Franada so don't bash on me too much, thanks for reading. Oh and to Star That Shines on Angels Win, I am extremely sorry for making you wait so long (I can't believe I made you wait for 2 years Q.Q) though I hope I can make it up by making this a multi-fic chapter (I'll need a lot of help with the 2nd chapter; the title sucks too). There's so much stuff going on with school and whatnot. Anyway, thanks for reading (and waiting).

I awoke to the blinding lights of the sun, which escaped through the curtains, and lazily attempt to shield the rays with my arm. After a few moments, I finally came out of my stupor and turned to look at the hazy box, with red numbers glowing on top of my dresser. The time was fuzzy, but soon cleared once I put my glasses on. It read 09:23 am. In the corner of my eye, Kumajiro, my dog, was curled up on top of the covers decorated with the Canadian flag.

The remainder of my drowsiness was soon swept away when I heard feet shuffling from the floor below me. _Huh, so Arthur's already awake. I should start getting ready now. Alfred's visiting, _I thought. Arthur is a British man in his early thirties, who adopted me and Alfred. He has emerald eyes, disheveled golden hair and is pretty short. For some reason, he never grew any facial hair, but his eyebrows make up for the lack of it.

The moment I got out of the bed, Kumajo raised his head in wonder of who disturbed him, but after a few moments of looking around the room, he decided it wasn't crucial and went back to sleep. I left my room and went to the bathroom across the hallway. Inspecting my reflection, I detangled the few strands of hair that decided to stick up sporadically and combed it until it became wavy and smooth. Only single strand of hair curled over my face.

After spending a few minutes in the bathroom, the stench of something burnt sent me running down the stairs. _Oh god, please don't tell me he's trying to cook again, _I thought, grimacing as I remembered yesterday's "meal". The moment I opened the kitchen door, black fumes escaped in large waves, causing me to cough and my eyes to water.

"Arthur! Are you alright?" I asked, while attempting to find him in the thick smog.

"Oh, Matthew you're awake. I decided to make some breakfast for you since you weren't up yet," replied Arthur contently, "Come sit down, I'm almost done cooking."

"Uh, I think I'll pass," I answered sheepishly, "Why don't I cook some pancakes instead?"

"But, I'm almost done with-"

"No, it's alright! After all, you should have a break since you had to tidy up the place for Alfred," I interrupted. Grabbing him by the shoulders, I said, "I'll be fine, you should go ahead and rest_,"_ and gently shoved him out of the kitchen.

An annoyed mumbling was heard through the door, but he soon left. Opening the windows, the smog left the kitchen, and tried to look for something edible in the fridge, successfully finding some left over dinner. Hesitantly, I looked at the stove to see what Arthur cooked, and immediately threw it out. It was so gruesome I didn't dare imagine on what it tasted like. I knew that Arthur meant well, but his sense of cooking isn't actually the best. I take that back, his cooking probably killed his own taste buds; it's a wonder on how me and Alfred are still alive.

During the tranquility of my solitude, I started reminiscing memories of me, Alfred and Arthur. When we were younger, Arthur was really kind to me and absolutely adored Alfred. My fondest memory took place during our third year together, on Christmas night.

It was snowing outside, and like children, we ran to the frigid window and gazed at it in awe. The fireplace emitted waves of warmth, adorned with red socks hanging and a wreath hanging from strings. The room smelled of sweet hot chocolate, and of freshly cut evergreen, which was covered in stringed popcorn and glass ornaments. Arthur came into the living room, beckoning us to join him near the fireplace. His arm was bandaged and placed in a sling, but he was very eager to give us our presents. Under the decorated Christmas tree, he gave Alfred a white wrapped box, which was decorated with blue stars and a red bow on top. Alfred unwrapped it excitedly, peered into the box, his merriment shown, and took out a set of hand crafted wooden soldiers.

"Thank you Artie! Oh wow, they have different faces too!" exclaimed a young Alfred as he rushed to hug our father.

"I painted them each separately. Take good care of it, I did break my hand while I was piecing it together," he chuckled joyously, then facing towards me, "Mattie, now don't you fret, I didn't forget you this time. Wait here," then he left the room. Alfred and I faced each other, confused, until we heard barking from the distance. A few moments later, Arthur and with a small white puppy, which tried to break free of his grasps.

"Here you go, Mattie," he said, as he gently lifted the dog down, "Be careful now, he's still pretty young. What are you going to name him?"

Holding the puppy in my tiny arms, I lightly squeezed him and shouted, "His name's going to be Kumajiro! I'll take good care of him from now on!"

"I know," Arthur affirmed warmly, "Now come here you two." We giggled with glee as we charged into the man's outstretched arms.

I grinned to myself distantly, back then it was so different compared today. As we grew older, Alfred became more distant towards Arthur, resulting in a tense relationship that lasted for several years. Progressively the tension escalated into several scuffles, until eventually the conflict was resolved. Unfortunately, it was far from peaceful.

On July 4th, Arthur and Alfred went into a full blown war. The walls met the full force of their backs, as they slung each other into the walls and took turns mugging each other in the face. In the end, Alfred left the house. He even offered to have me come with him, but after seeing Arthur on the floor, crying pitifully, I stayed. Lately, Arthur's and Alfred's relationship has gotten better and eventually progressed to the point of where Alfred is visiting us.

The sound of knocking interrupted my thoughts as I finished the rest of my breakfast and placed the dishes in the sink. Arthur's chair scraped the wooden floors as he stood up eagerly, judging by how the chair dragged on the floor. The door clicked open, and the guest was met with an irritated groan.

"Ugh, what the hell are you doing here you wanker?" said Arthur annoyed. Although I wasn't expecting him to give Alfred an entirely earnest welcoming, but an aggressive greeting wasn't what I had in mind either.

"Ah, Arthur, why are you so unpleasant this morning? Were you expecting someone other than moi?" the man joked. I froze. _A French accent? No that couldn't be, he shouldn't have any reason to be here. _My stomach tightened in anticipation.

"Shut up you git. Answer my question Francis," Arthur growled. My throat tightened, which made it difficult to swallow. I dread the moment when I had to encounter Francis again.

Before I met Arthur, Francis was my adoptive father. No, Francis was the reason why I was able to meet my new guardian. During the time when I was under Francis' care, he was married to a lady named Jeanne Joan Ark. We were a happy family and had nothing different than that of the average family. However, during one winter night, it was raining very hard. The roads were wet and covered with slush. We were driving home from the airport after visiting some family in another part of France. On the highway, a driver hit a large mound of ice, which caused it to lose control. It swerved toward us, and Francis reflexively turned the steering wheel.

We crashed into a pole. The hood of the car was bent around the steel, Francis leaned onto the steering wheel, blood dripped down his jaw line and onto the seat. Jeanne was laid back into her seat. The window beside her was shattered and covered with blood. During the entire time, even while the ambulance was there and the paramedics took us, I was in a stupor. Somehow, I fell asleep, and woke up in a hospital bed. Francis had his back to me; Jeanne was in the bed next to me. Her head bandaged, a gas mask was strapped to her face and an IV was lodged into her arm. The sound of the monitor interrupted the silence, until it suddenly grew more frequent. Francis started panicking and the doctors and nurses rushed into the room.

The beeping stopped, and instead, one continuous sound replaced it. At this moment, everyone stopped, but Francis started shaking and shouting at Jeanne. The doctors ran to stop him, but he resisted. Being a child, I did not understand what had occurred during that moment.

"Jeanne is sleeping papa. I think she's very tired."

One of the doctors was able to calm him down, and guided him outside. The nurses did a small check up on me before they released me to Francis. He sat on a bench outside, slouching his back with his hands covering his face.

After Jeanne's death, Francis became very depressed and although I wasn't abused physically, he neglected me. Days kept passing by, and his health regressed. One day, Francis took me to England to visit one of his old friends from college. He introduced to me a British man named Arthur. During that time, I thought that Francis was just visiting one of his friends, but I didn't expect him to push me towards him. I turned towards Francis, expecting an explanation, only to face his back, ready to leave. Arthur held me back, as I watched Francis close the door behind him. Although I was just a child back then, I realized that Francis had abandoned me, he entrusted my care to a person I never met. He betrayed me.

During the first few days in Arthur's care, I had locked myself in the bathroom and avoided all contact with the strange man, hoping that Francis would return. Once the hope had diminished, I cried, and Arthur was there to comfort me. A week after Francis abandoned me, I met Alfred, who had been staying with Arthur's cousins. Although several years passed since that time, I unwillingly recalled the events that had transpired years ago.

After I was done with my thoughts, I continued to listen in to their conversation. "Ah, mon ami, don't be so moody so early in the morning," Francis replied. "Why don't we go inside and continue our discussion there?"

Footsteps echoed around the house, as they headed towards the living room. Unconsciously I walked out of the kitchen and stopped near the doorway of the living room. The door was slightly open, allowing me to see them sit on the ebony table.

"So, how is Mathieu? I expect that he's been doing fine these past few days," Francis stated.

"Why don't you ask him yourself, he's in the kitchen right now," Arthur suggested.

"Non, I don't think that he would like to see me anymore."

"And whose fault do you think that is?" Arthur snapped. There was a long pause before Arthur continued. "Why did you do it?"

"Do what?" Francis innocently stated. However, I couldn't shake off the notion that it contained something deeper.

"You know what I mean, you bloody Frog," Arthur replied. "Why did you entrust him to my care? Even if you were mentally unstable, you could have come back for him a few years ago or visited him."

"I know," he simply replied. This seemed to piss off Arthur even more.

"You say that, yet you still haven't told me why. Did you know how hard it was on him? He trusted you a lot."

Francis chuckled sadly before he answered, "I gave him to you in those years because I wasn't capable of raising him. Even now, I still don't fulfill the requirements of a parent."

"Huh? What are you talking about Francis?" Arthur asked. "Even though depression caused you to neglect Matthew before, doesn't mean that you're still incapable to take care of him."

Francis opened his mouth to respond, but the knock on the door interrupted their conversation. I quickly stepped back, just in time so they would pass by without noticing me.

"Hey Artie! How's life been? Bet ya' missed me," Alfred exclaimed. His enthusiasm caused Arthur to scowl, especially at the new nickname the American had decided to use.

"Oh look it's you Alfred. It seems your manners haven't improved since you left this house. I'll be with Francis in the living room. You should go keep Matthew company. He should be in the kitchen," Arthur replied.

"No, I'm right here," I whispered, revealing myself from the doorway. I looked down so I could avoid Francis' gaze.

"Yo, Mattie! How's it been? It's been ages since I saw ya'. I'm surprised you're still alive after eating his cooking for so long!" Alfred laughed. Arthur's mood was starting to have a very ominous aura. He began walking toward Alfred with a murderous, but was stopped by Francis, laughing at the reunion.

"Come on Arthur, let them talk," Francis said as he dragged a struggling Brit into the living room. He closed the door, leaving me and Alfred alone. There was a long awkward pause before Alfred decided to drag me upstairs. He checked if Arthur decided to murder him for his previous comment, but turned around once he realized no one followed, and grinned.

"Hey, Mattie. How's life?"

"Alright, how about you?"

Alfred laughed before he answered back enthusiastically, "It's awesome! Especially when there isn't an angry old man tell you what to do." He paused slightly before continuing, however, his tone lost its delight, "You know, I really missed ya Mattie."

"It was probably my pancakes and maple syrup that you missed," I joked back. After a fit of laughter, I began to wonder why Alfred decided to leave. Even though he didn't have a good relationship with Arthur, I didn't think he would hate it enough to leave. I wanted to ask, but subconsciously it felt like a taboo subject. My curiosity took control and I went against my better judgment. "Alfred, why did you decide to leave? I mean, even if you didn't like Arthur, it's not like you to hate him enough to leave, right? You guys used to have a good relationship. What happened?"

Alfred didn't respond for a long while. All the joy from our reunion was replaced by a glum atmosphere. "You know back then, I really didn't want to be told around anymore," he paused. "It was really problematic for me, but, in retrospect, I think..."

He paused a while, before entering into his usual goofy expression, "I think, that subconsciously I didn't want to be a little boy in his eyes. I guess you can say I wanted to be a man."

"What do you mean?" I asked confused. He ruffled my hair, smiling.

He didn't give me a clear answer other than, "You'll understand what I mean eventually."

Once his hand left my head, I immediately fixed my unruly hair. Alfred, checking his watch, suddenly stated, "I gotta leave now, meeting up with some friends later."

He started walking down the stairs, but stopped, and turned toward me. "If you decide to move out, you can live with me. I won't mind. You don't have to, just a thought. You don't have to answer now, the offer still stands. After all, you're my little bro." He smiled, before rapidly descending the stairs.

Coincidentally, Francis and Arthur finished their conversation, and opened the door. Arthur, catching a glimpse of Alfred, a scowl formed onto his face and he "politely" started up a conversation. Alfred, temporarily forgetting his earlier engagement, replied back with a goofy grin plastered onto his face. Francis took advantage of Arthur's lack of attention and headed toward my direction.

Through my peaceful facade, hid my mentally panicked state. There was an awkward pause as Francis stopped in front of me. Instinctively, I averted my eyes from his direction, still obviously unwelcoming his presence. After a few moments, he spoke.

"It's been a really long time hasn't it. You sure have grown, Matthieu."

"Yeah," I uttered under my breath, trying my best to avoid eye contact. He continued standing there, smiling with his usual expression. The silence continued, causing me to squirm under it's awkwardness.

"Ah," he gasped suddenly, "That's right; today's the 1st isn't it?"

I gave him no response, trying to control myself from hoping too much. I didn't trust myself to remain calm if he thought different.

"Happy Birthday, Matthieu."

I gulped down the feelings that rised into my throat. He remembered. After all these years, he still remembered my birthday. Most of my hatred toward him had mellowed. He took advantage of my unresponsiveness and ruffled my hair, causing my head to shoot up meet his gaze.

"You're just as adorable as you were as a kid," he smiled nostalgically, continuing to ruffle my hair. No reason came to mind, but I frowned, obviously displeased but clueless as to why. "I should get going now before Arthur decides to kick me out. Come visit me sometime."

He turned toward the doorway, where Alfred and Arthur were also finishing a conversation. He interrupted their conversation to say his goodbyes and walked out with his back facing me. A cold wave of sadness rippled through my body, causing me to avert my gaze again. It felt like he was leaving again.

I wanted to reach out and grab him but I resisted and stared at the fleeting person. The atmosphere lost its warmth as they left out home. Feeling a bit dejected, I trudged my way upstairs. Feeling a bit irritated at myself, I lied onto my bed to review the previous events that had occurred a few moments ago. My irritation only grew when I couldn't find a reason for those strange feelings earlier. Snippets of my conversation with Alfred and Francis began flowing through my mind.

… _just as adorable as you were as a kid..._

… _you can live with me..._

… _come visit sometime..._

I didn't understand how my mind prioritized these thoughts, but once I it entered my notice, I pondered about it constantly. Were my previous feelings due to an unconscious desire for freedom? That didn't make any sense whatsoever. But it was the only "reason" I could cling onto for the moment. _Should I move out then? Maybe that would help me figure some things out. Wouldn't it be more convenient for me anyway? My university is pretty far from home..._

The idea continued to develop itself until no other thoughts could rival the idea. Sighing pretty loudly, I turned my head. 11:43AM. Barely any time has passed, yet I already felt drained and restless. _What should I do? _I thought as I slowly began to drift.

Large red numbers were the first few things that registered in my mind. 06:21PM. Slowly lifting myself up, I noticed that the sun had already set, turning the sky into an illuminated shade of blue. I shifted my feet out of bed and headed downstairs. A dim light coming from the dining room lit each step, allowing me to easily descend. Through the little space in between the door and the wall, Arthur sat alone, staring intently at a book. The door creaked slightly as I pushed the door open, surprising Arthur enough to look up.

"Ah, Matthew. Do you want to eat? I can make something for you," Arthur, prepared to get up, was stopped by me. I gently pushed him into his seat.

"No thanks, I'm not hungry yet," I lied. However, lying about my hunger was a much better option compared to eating his cooking.

Arthur, accepting my excuse, nodded. He flipped a page in the big book he had previously been reading and smiled. He pointed to a picture of two young children in the school playground. The grinning boy on the left wore a light orange hoodie, tan shorts and was holding a butterfly he had caught. The other boy to his right wore a similar outfit and carried a little white puppy. "Do you remember when your kindergarten allowed you to bring live animals for show and tell?"

I smiled, and sighed out an agreement. Arthur continued flipping through the pictures, pointing to each one and reminiscing each moment. As he turned the page, one of the pictures caught my eye. My sudden attention placed into one photo. It was a picture taken with Alfred and me during my first open house in America. Alfred and I wore matching capris and hoodies, and we both held up different pictures that we drew ourselves.

At that time, we were about 6 years old and I had just transferred to America despite it being mid semester. Alfred easily made friends with the other kids while I was left in the corner reading or playing with the leftover toys. None of the kids wanted to touch it since they thought a ghost was playing with it.

Arthur continued flipping through the album but then noticed something. "Matthew, there aren't that many photos of you."

"That's because people forgot about me," I laughed, but it was true. Every time someone took group pictures, they never could remember me, except for this one guy. He was pretty strange, both mentally and physically. Well I guess his albinism would explain his unique appearance. I never did understand why he even noticed someone as invisible as me, but we became good friends. It was such a shame he had to move to Germany after middle school.

I looked back at Arthur who was still skimming each photograph. Until now, I never noticed how tired Arthur looked at that moment. There were bags under his eyes, and the vibrant peridot in his eyes became dull. I could notice that his hands were calloused and scarred from all of the odd jobs he did when he was younger. Was it right to even think about leaving Arthur all alone?

"Matthew, I need to talk to you for a bit," Arthur stated suddenly. He closed the album before looking straight into my eyes.

"What's wrong Arthur?" I asked curiously.

"I've been thinking about your college," he paused and took a deep breath before continuing. "When do you start again?"

"Huh?" I was slightly confused. Why did he decide to bring this up? "I'll be going to one in August-"

_Wait a minute. That's right… my university is in Canada..._

"I see. That's only a few weeks away isn't it," Arthur stood up from his chair. He headed towards the door. "Maybe you should start packing."

"Arthur," I called out to his back. "Are you fine with me leaving?"

"To be honest," He turned around to face me. A painful smile graced his lips. "I don't know."

"I used to think that we'd all still be together as one happy family. But, once Alfred left, I finally realized that this wouldn't last forever. You two grew up into such fine men. And later in life, you'll forget me and have your own family, your own lives. It makes me think how I ever lived before we met," Arthur's eyes started to glisten, and he took a few moments to compose himself. "Hah, I've turned into a sentimental old man."

I was shocked. No. Shocked isn't the right word. It doesn't express how much this affected me. Without any response uttered, I walked slowly and embraced the older man. _Was he always this skinny?_

"Even when we grow up and have our own family, we'll never forget you," I reassured. "You're our number one dad. The best we could ever wish for."

"Hm," He grasped my arm in a comforting gesture. "Thanks."


End file.
